My Brother's Keeper
by jules1013
Summary: Michael's thoughts and actions set and written immediately after The Hug in Riots, Drills and the Devil Part II. Michael x Lincoln slash. 18 and older


"Michael?! Michael?!"

"Linc."

He holds me so tightly, like he can't believe I'm here, can't believe I've survived. God, I was scared. I never expected things to run smoothly, exactly, but this, this unnerves me. I will get him out. I will save him from politically sanctioned murder. But this, I can't control this. And yet, he's here. And with the doctor safe, they will come at any moment to settle this. Now, now I feel safe. We have each other and no one seems to notice us. I'm pressed against him so tightly, I don't immediately notice the blood. But he's here, my brother is here. He may have done some stupid shit in his life, but he's always come through intact. I guess that's why it's so odd now that I'm his protector, my brother's keeper.

He shrugs himself from me.

His eyes are searching, his voice exasperated--he is irritated. "Michael, Oh God, Michael, why did you come? Why are you here? I could've died in here knowing you were OK."

He doesn't know how to adjust either; he still wants to be the sacrificing older brother.

"But I wasn't OK. I'm not OK." I hesitate. "I can't lose you."

There's a flash in his eyes, recognition. But only for a moment; it passes. Linc thinks he's mistaken.

He looks away, and then, "Come on, let's get out of all this. I don't want any more trouble. Besides, soon they'll separate us again."

I turn and walk away, knowing he will follow. But I don't look back, and I stare past the other prisoners.

I don't know how long it's been like this, but I think it was that day I first visited him in prison, the day I truly _knew_ he was innocent. I can't be without him; I fully understood it that day.

Sure, I knew before. I knew my relationship with my brother was different--intense, complex, fucked-up. At least, I knew that's what they thought and what they told me to think. Just a little too dependent, a little too much worship. Of course I knew he wasn't perfect, far from it, but that didn't knock him from my pedestal. That's what they don't get, how you can idolize someone without falling under illusions. Our relationship was too complex for that. Linc was too many things for me. Brother, father, provider, neglecter, friend, dealer. I guess it seems amazing that I didn't turn out like him. He never hid himself from me, never deliberately lied. He wasn't exactly forthcoming either, but I was always a curious kid. I've seen him going down on some girl, seen him strung out on his bed, depending on the nights I'd peek into his room. No, Linc didn't lie to me. But he stressed that I could do better, be better than him--that I was worth more. So I got an education while he fucked-up his life and his relationships. But never with me. He was never a fuck-up with me.

I knew Linc was the most important person in my life, always. What I didn't know, what I've just come to accept, is that he is my life--my reason. I ache for him, even now while we're together. But I guess it's always most severe when I'm near him.

I knew after they'd taken him, locked him away from me. I knew my longing wasn't what they'd call 'normal.' I understood this only after we'd been separated, when I realized I'd never be with him again. And after his final appeal was denied, well, I knew what I had to do.

Concerning Linc, I've never cared much to be normal. Not when growing up I was told that my feelings for my brother weren't normal, and not now. I've had three years to think about my relationship with Linc and just over a week to encounter it. It's certain. My need for Linc is fundamental to my being. I need to feel his touch, breath, care. I need him to be with me always.

He senses this. He'd know it only if he'd allow himself to. I sometimes think this is my best chance: here, now, while in prison. He's lonely, facing death, and hasn't been touched in years. I think now I could touch him, stroke his face--even kiss him. He'd be too lonely, too overwhelmed--too out of control--to think it through, to reject me. Afterwards, out there, I will become his brother again. But now, in here, I'm his reason too.

I've led him into my cell, past the toilet, and behind the wall. It's stupid and risky, we both know it. Yet he came, followed without a word. We're sitting side by side, arms barely grazing, eyes downcast, each lost in our own thoughts. Now I can do it. He will let me. If I've any chance, it's at this moment, and I cannot think beyond it.

I touch the side of his face, and his eyes flutter closed. With my thumb, I trace a path from his cheekbones to his mouth. His breath hitches, but he does not pull away. I glide my thumb across his lips and lean towards him. He holds his breath as I nuzzle below his ear. His body stiffens and his fine hairs stand straight when I breathe against him. He's surprised, frightened, and shamefully responsive. His eyes are open and searching as I lightly place my palms on either side of his face and gently guide his mouth towards mine. He is merely compliant at first, allowing my mouth to move over his. But soon, he begins to tentatively kiss back. Lightly, oh so lightly, he brushes his lips against mine. I push my tongue past his lips and he tenses, turning his face from mine. This is more than mere affection--it is even more than lust--but I think he doubts so.

"Michael, please, don't do this. I never meant to imply--I mean, you don't have to sacrifice yourself to me. Not that you aren't! I mean, you're here--I meant, not in this way. Please, Michael, forgive me."

I knew he'd do this. I knew he'd blame himself, not even accept what I'm sharing with him.

"Linc, you know I'm not doing this as a favor--you know that's not what this is."

His eyes are locked on mine. He is immobilized by fear and disbelief. I reach for him again.

He accepts my touch reluctantly, shaking and sweating. He's terrified, confused, ashamed, but mostly disappointed. I push his shoulders to the ground.

Beneath me, he breaks eye contact and turns his face away. I can see the raw skin at his neck. What the hell happened today? I straddle his hips, steady myself, and cross my arms against my chest.

"Linc."

He turns his gaze toward mine. I unfold my arms and lean towards his chest, placing my palms at each shoulder.

"Lincoln," I breathe.

This time his mouth reaches for mine. It's urgent, searching, and deep. His arms clasp behind my back, pulling me downward till my chest is pressed against his. He moans into my mouth as I suck at his bottom lip. Surely this is more than loneliness? Yes, my brother loves me, needs me. My hands travel down his torso toward the hairs below his belly. He whimpers when I break contact with his mouth, his eyes widening in apprehension as I descend lower. Slowly, slowly, I slide his trousers down his thighs, only to nestle myself between them.

"Michael, I--"

He gasps as my mouth moves over him. I begin to rub lazy circles over his abdomen, only to settle my hand at his hip.

He's relaxed into me, already started gentle thrusts. But I want more than this. I slide off him, my hand replacing my mouth, and try to maintain the rhythm. As I move lower, he instinctively spreads his legs for me. He's warm and fragrant, this secret part of him. As my lips and tongue move to begin their assault, I am halted by the voice of that damned Sucre.

"Fish! Hey, Fish! Man, I don't know _what_ the fuck you are doing in there, but things are ending back here. You'd better move your ass before it settles and they notice you're missing!"

My gaze darts back towards Linc, but his is directed upwards. His cheeks are moist and his mouth tight.

"Linc, I--"

But from either shame or disgust, he turns away as I reach for him.


End file.
